Hold Tight
by Rashaka
Summary: A collection of HIMYM shorts, with a Robin/Barney bent. #5 prompt: "Something involving an aquarium, a root beer float, and a trench coat."
1. No Dice

**Characters:** Barney, Marshall, hints of Barney/Robin  
**Word Count:** 575  
**Rating:** PG  
**Spoilers:** Post 1x14, "Zip, Zip, Zip"  
**Challenge:** Barney, Ted, and Marshall in Las Vegas, no spoilers  
**Summary:** _'You fight for freedom from devotion, a battle that will always begin with somebody giving you a piece of advice.'_

**Author's Notes:** I don't know how to write Marshall's dialogue style, so I apologize for this in advance. And I don't know where Ted went! This is set sometime recently after the lazer tag episode in season 1. On a separate note, I've been to the Bellagio before (love the Chihuli ceiling) but I don't remember where the bars are located specifically. The summary is a line from a Scissor Sisters song.

* * *

**No Dice**

_"So now that things with you and Victoria are going pretty well, I assume you're probably over all the girls you were into before, right? I take your silence as a yes. So, ergo, therefore, say I were to hook up with someone, say, I dunno, Robin, you'd be cool with that, right?"  
_

_"Hh, sure. Good luck with that."_

_  
"Hah!"_

Lights and flash are integral to the purpose of casinos: distract your eyes and your mind so that you don't notice you're being burgled in a completely fair and legal manner. Barnaby F. Stinson, worldly man of an awesome world, looked at the multicolored, shifting sparkles reflected in the mirror behind the Bellagio ground-floor bar and strategized the best way to rob the robbers before the robbers robbed him. This was feeling like a Blackjack night.

At least, it was until Wingman #2 arrived. The U.S.S. Marshall descended on Barney, gorilla arms open like gun ports.

"I need a beer! I can't believe you flew us to Vegas for free. This is awesome, man. What _do_ you do at that place you call an office?"

This was their third casino, and he was a little bit more drunk than Barney.

"Boring stuff. All you need to know is that we probably saved the world from Y2K. Where did Ted scamper off to? He ran like a little girl as soon as we got past the lobby doors."

"You didn't even work there in 1999. Lawyered!" Pleased with himself, Marshall chugged a huge gurgle of the beer Barney had just placed in front of him. He tried to remember the question. "Ted's losing at blackjack."

"Losing?"

Maybe it wasn't a Blackjack night, after all, Barney pondered. Maybe it was a good night for craps. Who knew if Ted's bad luck was contagious? Marshall was probably a carrier. Like that monkey in _Outbreak_. Marshall _would_ be the guy who accidentally destroys the human race... after all, someone's got to be around to sob about it afterward.

"Of course he was losing!" Marshall continued. "He didn't want me there. He got it into his head that I cheat with my brain."

"Reeeeeeally?" Barney sat up a little straighter. "How does your brain feel about dice?"

Marshall said, "It thinks they're cube-shaped," and put one hand on Barney's shoulder. He leaned on him, swayed just enough for Barney to imagine how much Marshall probably weighed and realize how gigantic his hands were, then sat down in the adjacent stool. "So man, I gotta know."

"Know what?"

"What Ted mentioned about you hitting on Robin. Because," Marshall hunched his shoulders and let out a burbling, sickly sort of giggle, "if it's true, that's too precious for words."

Barney, usually immune to all things Marshallish, discovered an unwelcome bubble of annoyance had floated up his stomach and into his chest cavity.

"Precious?"

"As in Precious Moments. She shot you down, didn't she? Ha! I can tell by your face. No dice, buddy; Robin's out of your league, even you've gotta know that."

The bubble of annoyance began morphing into a balloon of mild disdain, and it wasn't a stretch for Barney to look indignant. Marshall clearly had no idea what he was talking about, and was falsely comparing his own lackluster masculine appeal to Barney Stinson's far more awesome and sophisticated self.

"Ha. There's no woman alive who is out of the Barnacle's league."

"Robin is. By about four more leagues."

With a dismissive snort, Barney said, "I'll have you know, we played Hard Core Battleship."

"She kicked your ass at that too, didn't she?" The lawyer grinned, and with an abrupt decision and an abbreviated sigh, Barney gave up.

"That woman cheats like a man," he grumbled.

Marshall slapped him on the shoulder and shouted to the bartender. "We're going to need another beer over here!"


	2. The Old Black Rum's Got A Hold On Me

**Characters:** Robin, Barney/Robin  
**Word Count:** 350  
**Rating:** PG  
**Spoilers:** Post "Sand Castles In the Sand" and minutes before "The Goat" opening.  
**Challenge:** "Robin suiting up"  
**Author's Notes:**I tried second-person POV for the first time in about ever. I hope it works. The title is from the band Great Big Sea, which I was listening to while writing.

**Summary:** _'Because the old black rum's got a hold on me, like a dog wrapped round my leg. And the old black rum's got a hold on me, will I live for another day?'_

* * *

**The Old Black Rum's Got A Hold On Me**

Okay, Robin, so this isn't how you planned to start your Monday. Life's full of surprises, right? And this probably doesn't _really_ make you a sad, self-loathing idiot. Aside from the self-loathing that you're feeling right now, of course. But that's temporary. It'll be fixed as soon as you get up, face the world, avoid facing--facing him--and take action.

Come on, Scherbatsky. You can do this. This was your night, and it'll be your morning.

Don't look at the Barn--the body--next to you. Your robe is on the floor within arms reach. You'll be able to get it without even shifting the bed if you're careful. Just lift your eyelids, move your shoulders and do. not. look. back. Move already! Why are your eyes still closed? And don't think about the fact that you're touching elbows right now. Don't think about his hip, which is right--it's--

--shifting. Oh fuck he's waking up.

There goes freedom. Or...not?

Okay, so his leg has re-wrapped itself around your leg. Not a problem! Not a big problem. A totally deal-able sized problem. If you just twist your ankle under... there! You're free again. Wow, his feet are warm. No, don't think about that. So is his thigh! And his shoulders are a lot bigger than you thought under the suit. How often does he work out, anyway?

"Mrrrhhheeehhuuhhhgh."

Shit! He's almost conscious. No more getting distracted. Got to get out of here, Scherbatsky. Got to _move_. He's just, just a guy. Just a guy you brought home for a drunken one-night stand. Well, a one-night stand. You weren't exactly drunk, were you?

No, not on topic!

The morning is here. You've got to go work. It's time to _suit up_.

"MhhhEhhhrrrrgggg...Robinnn?" Oh sweet Jesus, his hand is touching your hand. That's his pinky finger caressing yours. Unacceptable. Edge away now. Hands above the covers! Well done. Now, open your eyes. _Finally_.

"Morning, Barney."

"Uhh...hey Robin."

"Hey."

What kind of torture is this?

"Um. In my experience, the way this normally goes..."


	3. Trick Me

**Characters:** Robin/Barney  
**Word Count:** 2400  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Season 3, after Gael but sometime before "Ten Sessions".  
**Author's Notes:** My longest attempt at HIMYM to date. This is my response to a challenge I put toward the Barney/Robin fans on the Livejournal comm, as described below. I used to think Barney was easier to write than Robin, but it seems I keep writing in Robin's POV. I think she's easier to write the inner thoughts for, whereas Barney is easier to write about looking from the outside in, from other people's perceptions of him.

**Summary:** Footsie. Someone was playing _footsie _with her. Robin sipped her beer and very carefully did not look in Barney's direction.

* * *

Challenge - Episode 3x13 - "Ten Sessions" - Take this conversation and invent a backstory for it:

**Barney:** "You can't turn a 'no' into a 'yes', Ted! Can't be done."**  
Robin:** "I don't know Barney, I mean sometimes persistence pays off. I said yes eventually."**  
Barney:** "No you didn't. You were like _'No, we can't, we're friends, it'd mess up the dynamic of the group.'_"**  
Robin:** "To **Ted**."**  
Barney:** "Oh, right."

* * *

**Trick Me**

MacLaren's was perfect that night: People laughed and spoke, but it wasn't too crowded, and everyone Robin passed as she headed toward the familiar seats seemed to have time for a smile or a neighborly nod. For a city bar, this was almost holiday behavior. Robin was in a good mood herself; the spring in her step was the result of an increased bonus and a day off to look forward to. Waving to her friends, she slid into booth next to Lily, her back to the bar. Across from them, Ted argued with Marshall about the minutiae of World of Warcraft.

"Robin!" Lily said a tad too eagerly, "What's the crazy business in news today?" The boys looked up, nodded in joint acknowledgment of her arrival, and went back to discussing the ideal number of players for a quest.

Robin smiled into her drink, a dark European beer she'd been considering trying out for the last week since MacLaren's started carrying it. With a hidden sigh of relief, she pulled her feet out of her sexy but murderously painful sandals and wiggled her toes under the table. They tingled with tiny needles of freedom after hours of confinement. Idly, she wondered why Barney was later than her, a rare event.

"They're handing out money," Robin answered, "which makes it my favorite kind of crazy business."

"Who's handing out money?" And there he was, swinging himself into the extra chair with a drink—probably scotch—halfway to his lips.

"Robin's work," Lily replied. "I'm in the wrong career, obviously."

They chatted about Robin's raise for a bit, then speculated about how much Robin's co-anchors got paid. At this point Marshall and Ted weighed in, and the discussion turned toward paper currency, and from there, to the board game _Monopoly_.

"I still like the red corner," Ted said. "Indiana, Kentucky... The red corner is the most valuable monopoly in the game. It's not too expensive to maintain, and if you put enough houses on it you can decimate a person in one landing."

"No, the yellow," Marshall argued. "Everyone always wants the red—"

"Because of the color, mostly," Lily qualified, intimately familiar with the lows that kids or adults would sink to just to get the right color for a game. Everyone wanted to be red.

"—so people hardly ever trade it," Marshall continued, "and half the time no one gets the monopoly all game."

Robin was gearing herself up to chime in with her strategy of acquiring the oranges _and_ the yellows as her preferred set-up when she felt something pointed and curious graze her ankle bone. She opened her mouth to speak but it grazed her again, this time lingering at the spot where her ankle began to curve into her calf.

Footsie. Someone was playing _footsie_ with her. She checked Ted across the table. It couldn't be Ted. It couldn't, right? They'd dated for a year and he'd never tried footsie on her, and besides that he was serial-dating these days, looking for Mrs. Right, and he wouldn't try getting Robin's attention now. Lily and Marshall were on the wrong side or too far away, so it wasn't one of them by accident. Which left...

Robin sipped her beer and very carefully did not look in Barney's direction.

"Boardwalk and Park Place are a death trap. You put money in, you spend all your savings on—"

"Savings?" Barney interrupted Lily. His face betrayed nothing as the cotton material of his socks teased the top of Robin's nearest foot. "This is _Monopoly_, only losers worry about savings."

"As I was _saying_, you put all your savings into it but as soon as you land on someone else's houses, you have to sell the houses on Boardwalk at half price just to stay alive."

Robin examined him as discreetly as she could afford. Barney was playing a masterful game of poker face; on the surface, he was an animated participant in the discussion happening above the table. He interrupted, he gesticulated, he added his two cents and then some. But underneath…he slid his big toe along the under-edge of hers, where toe joints met foot. Robin sucked in her breath, then tried to cover the act with a gulp of beer.

"Even if you do manage to keep Park Place or the Boardwalk," Marshall jumped onto his wife's train of thought, "no one ever lands on them. People land on them less than any other property in the game. Everyone knows that they're unlucky."

She tried to focus on the thread of discussion. The more creative Barney got, the more difficult it was becoming for Robin to keep her face straight. She didn't believe feet to be overtly erotic, but he was succeeding in monopolizing her attention and the secrecy of the game added a thrill that sent her insides buzzing.

Of course, Robin wasn't playing along, because this was _Barney Stinson_ and she was not at all interested, not even a little, not ever, but somewhere mid-way through the discussion of whether landing on "Go" really means you get four hundred dollars, Barney's tactics changed. Instead of trying to engage Robin, the game became a challenge of making her react.

So, okay, maybe she was playing along. She hadn't kicked him yet. Not kicking him immediately was probably a mistake, now that Robin thought about it. No doubt he was taking her lack of reaction as permission to continue. Practically an invitation.

Robin risked a look at him over her glass. Barney was on her right, lecturing at Marshall across the table, but his eyes flicked to the side, caught her staring, and jumped back. Except now his grin was three times its size. Under the table, he tickled her calf.

Robin felt her neck blush, which was not okay. Blushing because of Barney was under no circumstances okay, even if those circumstances included him doing potentially kinky things to her feet. There were certain places Robin had no interest in going, and Barney was one of those places. Nevertheless, she felt the blush wander up her neck until her cheeks began to feel warm.

She was so busy not playing footsie with Barney that Robin missed the lull in conversation, and was shocked back to the above-table world when Ted reached out to lay his hand over hers.

"Robin, are you alright? You look nauseous or something." At the same moment, Barney's toe drew a long, languorous line down her instep.

"No. Yes! Excuse me, I gotta go to bathroom and hurl!" Robin's sandals were back on and she was out of that booth in two seconds. It was only nine paces to the hallway with the telephones and restrooms, but it took all her pride not to run.

She passed from the gleaming lights of the bar into the cooler, dimmer corridor, prepared to sigh at the relief of escaping the table with her virtue mostly intact, if less of her pride. Two steps into the hallway, mid-sigh and with mind still occupied with fantasies about running cold water over her face for a year, Robin was unprepared for a stranger's hand to grab her on the wrist and pull her off-course. Caught unaware, the force of the tug jerked her sideways, and she screamed bloody murder.

Or she would have, if Barney Stinson wasn't standing before her with his palm muffling the greater decibels of her brush with victimhood. He gave her his best villain smirk; Robin recognized it from witnessing him practice in the mirror. She yanked his hand from her mouth.

"Barney! God! You scared the crap out of me."

"That's a grade-A scream, Scherbatsky. We're talking a Jamie Lee Curtis quality."

"How did you _get_ here so fast? I left the booth before you. You were right over there, behind me! In the bar."

He held up one hand and wiggled his fingers. "Magic."

"You're full of shit, Barney." Robin noticed, then, that his other hand was still attached to her. "Why are you rubbing circles on my wrist?"

Barney took the question as an invite to tug her arm closer to him, and leaned over till his mouth was near her ear. She expected something whispered: a sarcastic remark, an innuendo, perhaps a repeat of what he'd murmured to her in the bar a few weeks ago when she pretended to be the object of his pursuit. Although this whole scenario was rapidly becoming twisted and unwise and oh so wrong, a corner of Robin's thudding heart was indecently curious as to what lascivious description he'd pull from the thin air to tempt her with.

But he didn't need to say anything. A cool and calculated professional, he licked the shell of her ear.

Shock and a sudden, heady desire slammed into Robin with the elegance of a two by four. The wood-inlaid floor vanished beneath her feet, and she almost fainted.

_Almost._

She was Robin Scherbatsky, sophisticated and worldly New York news anchor, and she did not _faint_ for Barney Stinson's tongue.

"Barrrrrney," she said with a voice dripping in sexual promise, and turned her neck just enough to look at him. "I don't know what's in your pocket, but there's a small handgun in the purse at my hip. If you don't step back, I'll blow your testicles off. I don't even have to aim." Robin leaned in a fraction more, till their lips were barely an inch apart. "This close, I can estimate."

Barney's cheeks went pale, then his neck flushed red, but he didn't jump away. Robin was impressed, because she knew that he knew that last month as a present for herself she'd bought a collector's edition 1960s derringer and as a minor celebrity had talked her way into getting a concealed permit. From where Barney stood, she probably wasn't bluffing. Robin _was_ bluffing, because the derringer was in her desk at work, but her bluff must have worked because her would-be seducer looked like he was struggling between the age-old dilemma of protecting his future manhood versus the entertainment at hand.

Because he was Barney, and not Ted or Marshall, he chose the entertainment at hand: "Wow, Robin. That was _hot_." He licked his lips, and they were so close, he nearly could have licked hers too. "Say it again? But this time, do it with your Canadian accent."

Robin rolled her eyes and shoved him in the chest with both hands to knock him back. He laughed at her, danced back a step, and caught her hands on his chest. His fingers were longer than hers, the knuckles larger, and they felt warm against her skin.

"Come on, Robin, don't say it hasn't crossed your mind. You're a terrible liar around everyone but Ted."

She tugged on her hands experimentally, but he held them to his chest. He was still trying to seduce her, his thumbs doing interesting things to the backs of her fingers, and Robin wondered why he was working so hard at this. She was getting the star treatment, in Barney Stinson's concept of reality, and he must have thought about his approach carefully because it was working a lot better than Robin wanted to admit. All he was doing right now was holding her hands over his heart, and he managed to make it feel like foreplay.

Instead of trying to pull away, Robin curled her fingers so that her nails scraped against his suit jacket. His smirk got a little wider, and she felt an unexpected, unwelcome thread of sadness wind through her, knowing what she was about to do. She _shouldn't_ feel sad, or guilty. This was Barney, and he had to have known what her reply would be.

"No, Barney. My answer is no." Like piece of dropped note paper fluttering to the floor, the manic smile half-fell from Barney's face, down from his forehead to his mouth. His grin was still present, but its shine had dimmed.

"I don't think you're letting yourself appreciate the potential benefits here. And by benefits, I mean orgasms. Multiple orgasms make for healthy living, Robin. True story."

"Barney, we can't. I can't. We're friends, we're bros even, and it would mess up the dynamic of the group."

"Screw the dynamic. _We_ have an awesome dynamic. Let's make use of that."

Robin drew her palms from his chest, and this time he let them slide out from under his without protest. As sleazy and repulsive as Barney could be at times, the naked want in his expression twisted at Robin's heart. He looked like a boy who'd been taken into a candy store then told that sweets were not allowed, because they were nothing but brightly wrapped poison that ruined your teeth. It was an arresting stare, wanton and forlorn, and he wore it handsomely.

It was probably—definitely—another trick, but Robin felt herself give into her girlish instincts anyway. She hugged him. "Sorry Barney, but it's not happening. You'll have to settle for bros."

He took it stoically, and patted her on the back as she gave him a strictly platonic embrace. The fight, at last, had left him. Robin retreated, and smiled.

"That was a superb attempt, though. I was impressed." Hearing this, Barney seemed to perk up a little.

"Yeah? Which part? Was it the hands?"

Robin crossed her arms and said, "The hand-touching was good. Full points for being bold but not too aggressive. But it was the surprise appearance that got me. I still want to know how you got into the hallway before me."

Barney gave her the same look he gave people who asked what he did for a living. "I _told_ you five minutes ago, magic. You're usually not this ditsy. My charm must be having a delayed effect."

"Seriously, Barney, tell me."

He winked. "I'll tell you if you pay me."

"How much?" Robin asked. "And don't say orgasms."

He let his lower lip push out into a pout. "Scherbatsky, you're being an unusual killjoy tonight." Barney held out his elbow like a formal gentleman. "I'll buy you a beer and tell you a really good lie for how I did it, how's that?"

After a few seconds of pretending to ponder his offer, Robin took his elbow. They walked toward the door leading into the bar. "Deal, but it better be a good beer. I won't settle for a Heineken-level fib. I want something with thickness and flavor."

"What up! Thickness and flavor are where I excel."


	4. I See What You Did There

**Characters:** Barney, Ted friendship  
**Rating:** PG  
**Spoilers:** Season 4, aired episodes only  
**Author's Notes:** This is one of my entries to the LJ comm's BroTP drabblethon. Challenge drabble prompt: "You don't understand our love!"

**Summary:** "You don't understand our love!" Barney talks to Ted, nervously. Humor!

* * *

**I See What You Did There**

"You don't understand our love!" Barney decried, staring down his very good best friend Ted across the booth. His eyebrows were squished together as he tried to convey all the intensity of his totally not-boyfriend-like-but-also-more-than-bro-like feelings for mutual friend Robin to best friend Ted. Or was Robin currently his best friend? Barney traced the thought, pondered the particulars of Awesomely Drunk Ted versus Laser Tag Robin, and tabled the query for further examination at a later date.

Meanwhile, across the table, said friend Ted was staring with open disbelief.

"HAHA!" Barney suddenly laughed, pointing at Ted.

"What?" said Ted.

"Oh my god, your face. Is on fire. That was legendary. You're definitely my best friend, Ted Mosby."

"What?" said Ted.

"Nothing. Anyway, stop gaping, you look like a virgin school marm who just saw her first erection on a twelve year old student in homeroom. I was just messing with you, literally. Robin and I aren't in love or dating or screwing again or anything at all like that, so don't worry and, in fact, don't even think about it another second."

Ted managed to pick out one salient word from that abhorrent tangle. "Again?" he asked.

"Huh?" said Barney.

"You said 'or screwing again'. I thought it was just the one time!"

Barney gulped down a too-large mouthful of his scotch. He rolled his eyes as if Ted had said something horrifically obvious. "Uh, yeah."

"Yeah, _what?_"

"Yeah to what you said," Barney said, then belatedly added, "...bro."

Ted put his drink on the table, leaned forward, and damn near growled, "Barney, what the hell is going on with you? You've been getting weird, even by your standards, and now you make this lame and incomprehensible joke about you and Robin. And you said 'literally' in the middle of your sentence."

"Uh, no I didn't." Barney rolled his eyes again. "Like I would ever say that. Hah."

"And incorrectly too," Ted pressed. Barney waved a more than slightly tipsy hand at him.

"Whatever, Ted. I'm as awesome as ever, and in fact I'm more amazing than usual today, so I'll kindly ignore your conspiracy theories and pretend you're not just embarrassing us both right now."

Ted sat back against the cushioned wall of the booth. He took a sip of beer, examined his good friend with a level stare, and said, "Barney, something's going on with you, and if you don't tell me now, I'll just get Lily to tell me later."

His good friend's eyes darted quickly to the bar entrance and back. "Nice try, but Lily will tell you nothing. I've purchased her silence."

"Hah, so Lily knows! Oh this will be so easy."

"Fine. I'll pay you five hundred dollars not to pursue this."

"No deal."

"I'm giving you fair warning, Ted!" Barney said with more drama than anyone ought to say anything in a public bar before ten, "Whatever Lily says, you won't like what you hear!"

"Yeah, right," Ted scoffed. "After everything you've done before? How bad can it be?"

Barney managed to look even _more _uncomfortable when he heard that question, and couldn't help answering. "It's bad! It's really bad. Oh god, Ted, you won't _believe_ how bad it is. So--just--drop it, okay?"

"Fine," Ted said, but he crossed his fingers under the table.

And his feet, just to be safe.


	5. Conversation at an Aquarium

**Characters:** Barney, Robin  
**Rating:** PG  
**Spoilers:** mid Season 4, Naked Man  
**Prompt: **Something involving an aquarium, a root beer float, and a trench coat.

**Author's Notes:** Another BroTP LJ drabblethon entry!

* * *

**Conversation at an Aquarium**

Robin put her hand once more to her forehead and pinched the bridge of her nose. She'd just had a long day of interviews that probably wouldn't result in call-backs. Now she had her cellphone pressed between her ear and her neck as she tried to piece together what Barney was telling her.

"You're at the aquarium."

"Yes."

"And you're wearing a trench coat?"

"Yes."

"Barney...is a trench coat _all_ you're wearing?"

"That would be correct, madam officer."

"Barney!"

"It's true ma'am. I was not myself."

"Are you drunk, too? It's four in the afternoon!"

"Only some beer...of root. In a float with white, creamy delicious ice cream. Perfectly legal, officer. They sell them on the pier."

"Could you be more disgusting? Aquariums are for children. Why are you talking to me like a cop?"

"When someone pulls a Naked Man in a dolphin wrangler's office, the police need to be alerted. Like a good American I volunteered my blackberry."

"But _you're_ the Naked Man! Why doesn't the dolphin wrangler use her cell phone?"

"Why officer, I swear I did no such thing. It merely happens that her cell phone was on the desk under my pile of clothes, which were recently relocated to the basement waste disposal sink. And the land line has been down since Tuesday, and she doesn't trust me to stay in the office in my trench coat if she goes next door, though I promised her I had no intentions of leaving until you arrived to officially collect me."

"If you want me to come get you before the real police arrive, then you're going to owe me, Barney. I'm not talking about by-me-a-drink kind of owe, I mean serious debt. I'll literally have a Barney Stinson IOU that's good for one use from now until eternity."

"Yes, ma'am, I understand city regulations on this topic."

"And I am not dressing as a policewoman, Swarly."

"Officer Scherbatsky, I wouldn't dream of asking it. I promise as soon as you arrive I will go quietly and accept the judgment of New York's finest without legal action of any kind. I won't even protest if you put me in handcuffs."

"Easy, tiger, the night is young yet. Put the wrangler on the phone."

"You're a credit to all womankind, Officer Scherbatsky!"


End file.
